John Gray: The soul of Saint Patrick's is the people

For as long as I've been alive, if I found myself on 19th Street in Watervliet, I could look up and see a cross resting high above St. Patrick's church. The other day my heart broke a little when I turned on the news and saw that very cross laying on the dirty ground.

A small contingent of people who have tried to save the church from demolition were standing by, watching the slow dismantling of their memories. I understand the reasons why the church was closed, and I hold no grudge against any business that wants to take its place. Frankly, I'd rather see a store providing food and jobs in a community that needs both, than look at an empty parking lot. I just wish whoever took down the cross understood what it symbolizes and showed more respect.

While the main structure is still up for now, that church is, in reality, already gone and I don't want to dwell on the loss or rub salt in the wound for the longtime parishioners of St. Pat's. Losing a church is a terrible thing and anyone who doesn't understand that has never knelt in a pew, taken the holy sacraments, or said goodbye to a loved one at a church funeral. A church can become a part of you, like a family member, sharing in your greatest moments of joy and grief.

I grew up attending another great old church in our area, St. Joseph's in South Troy. When I do attend Mass there, I can't help but look around and see a memory in each corner. I was baptized there, an altar boy there, then, when I was older, a lector there. I've said goodbye to everyone I've loved and lost there. If I close my eyes, I can still hear my father singing "Gloria" with the church choir on Christmas Eve. One of my earliest memories is seeing my grandfather, Pa Gavin, attend 7 a.m. Mass every single day of the year. It wasn't until I was older that I understood why a man would want to start each day that way.

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As wonderful as a church is to a community and its parishioners, I wanted to reach out to the friends of St. Patrick's to tell them something quite simple. You are the church -- not that once beautiful building in the heart of Watervliet. You. Your love for each other and God and the way you came together as a parish is what made St. Patrick's special, not the brick and mortar they are taking away. The families you raised, the values you passed down through your faith, that cannot be erased with a crane and wrecking ball.

About a year ago, I read a story about a church that drove home this very point. It wasn't a Catholic church like St. Pat's but listen to what the pastor did. He was always telling his flock that "they" were the church, not the wooden structure with the white steeple. To prove it, he picked one Sunday a year and told them they were not welcome at church. Instead of singing the hymns and raising their hands to heaven, he had the neediest people in the church submit a note with one thing they really needed help with around the house, something they couldn't do themselves. Usually the notes came from the oldest and poorest members of the congregation.

One man had a broken front step on his porch and was afraid of falling; another family needed the house painted but had no money. The pastor took the notes and asked the others in the church to pick a chore and, instead of coming to services that Sunday, go to that person's house and fix what needed fixing. They were often working on the homes of perfect strangers. Then, later that day when the work was done, they all came together for a potluck dinner.

When I think of St. Patrick's closing and those parishioners scattered to the wind, I want to remind them that in the end it was just a building. Your relationship with God and ability to do good is not contingent on praying there. Does it hurt losing that church? Absolutely. But is your faith any weaker because you can't worship there? Absolutely not.

The funny thing is, if Jesus were alive and living in Watervliet today, I'm sure he'd love that old church. But on the nicer days, when the sun is shining and a cool breeze rolls off the Hudson, I think he'd bring you down to the river to preach. That is, after all, how he did it back in the day. I suspect he cares where your heart resides Sunday morning, not your body. I also believe he'd ask someone to please pick up the cross, as he did all those years ago.